Splatters of Red
by CrowdedDreams
Summary: One-Shot - Late night antics and case solving. Did I mention Sherlock was topless? Johnlock ensues! My first fanfic, please review honest opinions, thank you.


**_AN: This is my first fanfic ever! I hope people like it and I hope that there aren't that many grammar and spelling mistakes. Please review with your thoughts or any mistakes you see so I can edit them out :) Thank you _**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own the beauty that is Sherlock :(_**

Splatters of red: -

Opening the front door to 221B, John felt a sickening wave of nausea suddenly crash over him.

"God! What is that smell?" he whispered to himself with a nagging tug in his mind that he quickly put away hoping he was wrong. Gripping tightly onto the handle to keep himself upright, he slowly shut the door with as much delicacy he can muster in his current state. He wouldn't want to wake Sherlock up at this early hour knowing that he's currently on a strenuous case. Cautiously tiptoeing up the stairs, John shuffled his shopping bags from one hand to the other, a mannerism he normally did when he was nervous. He could no longer supress that tug in his mind. The air around him was clouded with what any normal person would describe as metallic and rusty, but John knew better. This was a smell that he was well too familiar with – far too familiar than he would have hoped. This is the smell that haunted his dreams at night and plagued his thoughts during the day.

Blood.

What greeted John as he opened the door was surprising enough for him to drop his shopping onto the floor and its contents to spill across the crimson carpet. Sherlock was frantically pacing the room from left to right completely topless and completely covered in blood.

"Christ Sherlock! What on Earth happened?" John managed to breath out. A small blush was creeping to his cheeks as he saw Sherlock in his half undressed form. He should be used to it by now, and anyway he's seen much more.

"What does it look like John?" was Sherlock monotonous reply. He still hadn't turned to face John.

"What the bloody hell do you think it loo-"

"John! Keep your voice down. Mrs Hudson is asleep." Sherlock took this moment to take a glance at John but his gaze was immediately drawn to the shopping on the floor. "I don't think that's where the shopping goes John."

Infuriated by Sherlock's blasé attitude, John kicked a carton of milk to the side, which resulted in a loud bang once it had reached the wall. Sherlock involuntarily flinched and let out a small sigh. "Honestly. Anger wont help the situation." Sherlock sighed.

"What exactly is the situation Sherlock? I come home to find you half naked and covered in splatters of blood!"

"Ah yes. Splatters you say John? Tell me, what else do you notice about the splatters?"

"What?" John was really not in the mood for one of Sherlock's little games. He wanted to get Sherlock washed first of all – this idea brought the blush back to John's cheeks – and then go to bed. His day at the surgery was far from stress-free and he didn't know if he had the energy to deal with this now as well.

"Simple John. Remember Mr Walker's body from the Splatters of Red case?"

"Uh…" there were so many cases at this point that John had a hard time distinguishing them from each other, however this one stuck in his mind as it was one that even Sherlock couldn't figure out. "…yeah of course. Dead body, gunshot wound to the chest, died on the spot. Blood splattered everywhere and the window open meaning the killer must've escaped from there. How could I forget – it was the case you hadn't solved."

"_Yet_ John. The case I hadn't solved _yet_. Think! If the murderer only shot Mr Walker once in the chest why was there blood splattered all over his body? A wound that small would not have had the spread the way we saw." Excited now that he was finally telling his story, Sherlock was making wild hand gestures and smiling like a mad man. This smile almost threw off John for a second. Almost.

"Ok? So what are you saying? That the killer spread blood on him after he shot him and then fled? But why would he do that?" The pieces weren't linking up for John.

"Ahh, see John. That's where you're wrong. Look at my body!" Sherlock pointed at his torso is delight as if the answer was simply traced onto his skin and so obvious to see.

Managing to conceal his blush but not the feeling he got pulsing in his stomach and below John let out a mangled gasp and answered "Your body?" John let out a small cough to get rid of the lump in his throat "Um, erm, all I see is blood splattered on it." Which John hoped wasn't his own blood.

"No! That is not all you see, but simply that is all you observe."

"Sherlock. Look I haven't got time fo-"

"Look John" interrupted Sherlock as if John hadn't spoken in the first place. "These are blood splatters that I inflicted on myself." Seeing John flinch and narrow his eyes he added "Not my own blood John. I got Mrs Hudson to go out to the butchers and get me some pigs' blood. Bit reluctant to do so without knowing why, so play along if she asks how the surgery is coping with the new blood transfusion formula." Once he saw John relax just a bit (after a fleeting indignant look about Mrs Hudson) he continued, "Anyway, look at the sizes and spread of the splatters. I used my left hand as Mr Walker would have done being left hande-"

"Wait! You think Mr Walker sprayed blood on himse-"

"It's rude to interrupt John. Like I was saying, some drops are larger than the rest – this is where the splatters originated from. Now see, the drops are streaked across from left to right showing that it was applied from an angle. Left to right suggest that it was applied from the left side of his body – which of course would make sense since he was left handed." Sherlock handed John a photograph, and closed his eyes. "That is Mr Walkers body at the crime scene, what do you see?"

"Bloody hell!" At Johns remark Sherlock couldn't hold back a small smile and peeked one eye open.

"Bloody indeed John. The splatter marks are almost identical to those on myself, which can only lead to the deduction that Mr Walker splattered the blood onto himself. 'Why?' I hear you thinking. Seriously John, could you try to think a little quieter, it is 3am after all." This earned a huff from John. "Well after all Mr Walker was in some serious debt issues and currently going through some stressful marital problems. He simply couldn't face day-to-day life and decided to end his life himself – probably to give him some control back into his life. Bit boring if you ask me, I was really looking forward to another serial killer. Oh well, I guess this will do."

"Wait wait wait! This makes no sense at all Sherlock. He was killed on the spot by a gunshot wound! If he did it himself where on earth did the gun go? It surely would have dropped to the floor immediately."

A devious smirk graced Sherlock's face. "Ah, now John this is where you and Lestrade were wrong. Mr Walker didn't die of a gunshot wound. He died of internal bleeding. This would give him enough time for him to trudge along to the window and dispose of the weapon."

"What do you mean internal bleeding? Molly did the tests and never found that. I think we have to give her some credit Sherlock, she would be able to tell if he had died from internal bleeding!"

"I'm not so sure about that John. The night of her examination of Mr Walker, what was she wearing?"

Perplexed at why this related to anything, John meekly replied "Um, honestly I cant remember!" After a few more seconds John exclaimed "Oh! A dress! Yeah, I remember a red dress! I remember wondering why she was wearing such an outfit at that time of the night but since we did call her to come out of her usual work hours I decided not to press it."

"Yes, exactly a red dress. Which matched her red lipstick. Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock didn't wait for John's reply before continuing "She was on a date at the time. With, uh, what's his name again? Jim! That's it. Yes she was on a date, which means she must have taken part in the socially expected customs of a date, and consumed alcohol. This and the fact that her breath was reeking of it. So her judgement was clouded by alcohol, and therefore could have missed some tell tale signs such as bruising surrounding the umbilicus or flanks. Molly was in such a hurry to leave she could've missed so much. Shame though, I would have had this case solved much faster if it wasn't for her desire to adhere to the socially accepted norms of society. Honestly who does that?"

"Everyone but you Sherlock! Anyway, that still doesn't explain where the gun went? They had men searching the apartment and premises. Did it just magically disappear?" John's tone was very snarky and Sherlock did not like it.

"Be rational John."

"Me? Be rational? I'm not the one who's covered in damn pigs blood!"

"Nevertheless, the officers searching the premises all were under the idea that the murderer escaped with the weapon and were only searching for mundane clues like footprints. I on the other hand went straight to the alleyway behind his apartment and directly below his window and began searching there. It wasn't long till I noticed the faint glimmer of the metal from behind the dustbins. Not hard to notice really once you know what you're looking for. Fingerprint test were concordant with my thoughts and I knew I was on to something. Of course I had to be 100% correct and I had my own questions about the legitimacy of the blood splatter patterns. That is what you saw me testing tonight. Or should I say this morning, what were you doing getting shopping at this time anyway?" Sherlock eyed the bags discarded on the floor and frowned at the contents.

John shuffled the items behind him to hide them from Sherlock's view. "I had a long day at work Sherlock. I'm entitled to some therapeutic retailing once in a while." That was a lie. John was just so worried for his best friends wellbeing that he went out of his way to buy some of Sherlock's favourite foods. Sherlock had been so tense lately and distant, well, more distant than usual. John hoped that the buying Sherlock's favourite olives and dark chocolate would help to get him back to his usual arrogant self. The speciality shop that John had to travel to was over 2 hours away, and public transport wasn't the most reliable way to travel. He hoped it was worth it, but now it looked like he was getting his Sherlock back after all. The milk was just because they were running out.

Sherlock stared at John for a second more than usual and John suspected that he had seen straight through his lie, as Sherlock does. It was one of the things he most admired about him but now it was getting on his nerves. So what if he wanted his friend to be happy!

"What about the blood?" John pointed out trying to get the conversation flowing again.

"What about it?"

"Well you said that a gunshot like that couldn't have possible splattered as much blood as it did. The blood was tested and it was a match for Mr Walker, but obviously he couldn't have just gather blood from his wound and splattered them on himself like that! So where did all that blood come from?"

For a second John thought he saw disappointment cross Sherlock's face but it was gone before he could fully question it. "Once again, your lack of observational skills perplex me." came Sherlock's frustrated response.

This seemed to throw John off and caused him to shift legs and with an accusative tone reply, "Excuse me!"

"Think John! THINK! Envision your mind palace –" Sherlock ignored Johns protests of not having a mind palace "– and walk through the apartment and _observe_ every detail. Tell me John, what have you found." Sherlock's eyes were closed and his fingertips were placed against his temples as he worked through his own 'palace'.

"Bloody hell Sherlock! I don't know, I don't have a bloody mind palace!"

"THINK."

'Fine' thought John. What could he remember about that night? It was only about a week ago so it was relatively fresh in his mind. He remembered the walls were a dingy green colour with peeling wallpaper. He remembered the burgundy carpet with coffee stains hidden by the well-placed furniture. He remembered the framed photos and certificates on the wall: a holiday snap with his wife (well widow now), a few of him from college, a graduation certificate, a blood donor certifi-

"I got it! He was a blood donor!" exclaimed John. However he was still slightly confused, "Wait? He was a blood donor?"

"Exactly John, the date on the certificate read January, only a few days ago. It mustn't have been hard for Mr Walker to somehow retrieve his donated blood and once he did the rest was easy."

"So that's that? He faked his own death. Great. Lets go tell Lestrade then."

"Already have."

"Without me?" John replied with a frown.

"I was too excited. And you were gone."

"Well I'm here now and you have still got pigs blood all over you so for the love of God Sherlock will you wash it off! The smell is nauseating and I don't think Mrs Hudson will appreciate it." John picked up the shopping bags and went to retrieve the milk carton from the side of the room.

Sherlock slowly walked towards the bathroom and as he passed John a devious smirk graced his face as he said "Fine John. But I think I might need some…help." Sherlock's voice was very deep and husky as he enunciated the last word leaving no doubt in John's mind what he meant.

John left the shopping on the floor as he made his way over to the bathroom whilst hurriedly taking his shoes and socks off with a smirk to rival that of Sherlock's.


End file.
